He would be a black belt in karate, with bullet scars on his left shoulder and right leg, thick red hair, and impressive dimensions (6’2”, 190 pounds, and a “9” dick”). That person, he wrote on Dynabrade stationery that he stored in his toolbox at work, would be an 18-year-old marine named Tommy.
Which may be why Montgomery looked at himself-a 45-year-old former marine with a reddish mustache, bulging gut, and disappearing hair-and decided to become someone else. For the most part, though, life was uneventful. There were a few things he enjoyed-poker night on Fridays with the guys, playing Texas Hold ‘Em on, and the Dynabrade euchre tournament, which he dominated for two years in a row. He tried to be a good father and a decent husband to his wife of 16 years, Cindy. He became such a regular presence at the local swim club that he was named its vice president. After work, he walked the family dog, Shadow, and took his two daughters to swim practice. He strapped on his goggles and stood at his machine until the late afternoon, churning out components for power tools. Every morning of every weekday for 12 years, Thomas Montgomery punched in at the Dynabrade factory in Clarence, a small town in upstate New York.
